Confessions of Castiel Novak
by Thebuttchesters
Summary: Castiel is a freshman and the University of Chicago. He has began writing to cope with his father's abandonment and his fading faith in the Lord. He meets a friend named Dean Winchester who helps him find the things worth sticking around for.
1. 9-25-13

9.25.13

I am starting this writing thing because I am not sure what I am supposed to do. And it seems to me that when people in movies have existential crisis then they become writers. I think this my best shot.

I know that I will probably be the only one reading these entries but just in case I suppose I should tell you about myself.

My name is Castiel Novak. I am a freshman at the University of Chicago. I like bees, cheeseburgers, and I have a newfound love for alcohol.


	2. 9-26-13

9.26.13

I guess all of this confusion began when I was sitting in my dorm 2 weeks ago. I was supposed to be reading some biblical texts because I am a religious studies major. Then I suddenly had a breakdown. I guess I just admitted to myself that I don't want to study that. It's boring and it's long and it's pointless because it's not like i am ever going to find out what any of it means anyway, right? So why am I even bothering, right? Plus in my experience it seems as though if God does exist then he mustn't care very much.

I just kinda realized that I am wasting my life already and I am falling into this like hole and I see all those people fall into it and now i just want to travel and eat good food and climb mountains and smoke cigarettes and have sex and hell I don't know Live a Little.

You will excuse my grammatical errors I have been drinking copious amounts of alcohol tonight because I think Hemingway wrote best when inebriated.

I am glad I am not at home right now. I don't like it there.


	3. 9-28-13

9.28.13

I saw a little boy today with his father. They were walking down the street. The father was holding the boy's hand. The boy looked at his father like there was no one else in the world.

I wonder if that is how I looked before I knew.


	4. 9-31-13

9.31.13

It was chilly today. So I put on my maroon crewneck, old blue converse, and went to class. I was happy as I walked. Because it all felt really… nice. I like when it is cold and I can see the smoke from my cigarette drift through the wind. I like the leaves turning orange and the feeling of sweaters. I feel like a 13 year old girl when I say that but it is true. I like those simple things.

Of course class wasn't happy. I listened to my professor talk about the lord and I watched my classmates get enthused. I saw my old self in them. I saw hope and belief. Dedication. I felt empty and bitter. Faith was my purpose. But my Trust in God faded as the Problem of Evil rose.

I wish I wasn't so cynical.

Well I guess that is why I am writing.


	5. 10-3-13

10.3.13.

I made a friend today. He is in my residence hall. I met him in my astronomy class. I am happy I have a friend now.

He is a funny guy. He told me that I should talk more, that he likes my "sense of humor" and that he says he is going to make me listen to "Real music. Like Metallica." He wears a leather jacket and his breath smells like whisky.

His name is Dean. When I told him my name he said "I'll call you Cas."

Cas.

That's a good name.


	6. 10-4-13

10.4.13.

I didn't sleep well. I was repeating that over and over again, my new nickname.

Cas.

Cas.

Cas.

Cas.

cas.

I like how it rolls off of Dean's tongue. It sounds better when he says it.


	7. 10-4-13 (3:00 PM)

10.4.13 (3:00 PM)

I feel so stupid. I don't know why I would think that anyone would want to be my friend. Dean probably just felt awkward and didn't really want to be my friend.

I always get my hopes up. He probably hates me.

Cas cas cas cas cas cas Cas cascas CAS cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas Cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas cas

I don't like how compulsive I am. I am starting to get it badly again.


	8. 10-6-13

10.6.13

I saw Dean today. To make this more descriptive I will write this like a novel.

I was drawing in my notebook in the library.

"Hey, Picasso." Dean said a little too loud for the library.

"Dean, keep your voice down!" I whispered half startled, half nervous.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. What are you drawin'?" He took the sketchbook out of my hand and tilted his head.

"Uh. It's a-"

"A chapel."

"Yes, well. It's my church back home."

He glanced at my rough sketch of a decrepit old church. The roof was rotting, mold grew across the siding and a leafless tree engulfed it in black shadows.

"Bit spooky isn't it?"

"It doesn't actually look like that. I guess it's symbolic."

"Of what?" He asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"Faith."

Dean stared at me and gave this smile. This all knowing smile.

"Hey, I want to show you something later. Be ready around 7."

He smiled and sauntered off.

I think he does want to be my friend. I really hope so. Because I honestly haven't had someone to talk to in a long time.


	9. 10-7-13

10.7.13

Last night I went to Dean's room around 7 like he said. I spent a good 2 hours deciding what time "around 7" actually was. I decided on arriving at 7:03.

When I got to his door, he was already standing at it.

"There you are!" He marveled. I couldn't help but fidget and smile because he just emanated warmth and truthfully I've been so cold for so long.

He walked us out to his car. He didn't hesitate in telling me it was a "67 Chevy Impala." Then he told me some numbers and the horsepower, cylinders, and other car specs that I couldn't remember if I tried. But he was really happy about it. I like watching people get excited about things.

I got in the passenger side door. Dean started playing some AC/DC song and I laughed as he attempted to sing it. I felt awake for the first time in a long time. The windows were down, it was freezing cold, but I welcomed it. It is hard to explain. But with the wind on my skin, stinging my eyes, my ears throbbing at the stereo's volume, I felt alive.

Sometimes it's good to feel the air on your skin. Just to resort to your most primary human senses and remind yourself that you are living... And that is (as Dean says) "Pretty Freakin' Awesome".

We drove like that for thirty-six minutes. I never bothered to ask where we were going. But we pulled into this empty car lot. Dean got out and I began to feel uneasy. This looked like a perfect place to commit a murder. Dean was the vigilante type.

I stayed in the car. Dean walked over, bent down and knocked on my window.

"Cas? Are you going to sit in there all night?" He motioned.

I got out of the car and Dean sat on the car, opened a beer and handed me one.

"Look up there, Cas. I come here all the time alone. You look like you needed to see this." his voice changed from it's usually gravelly tone to a much softer whisper.

I tilted my head back to see. We had driven so far from the city that the lights of the chicago no longer polluted the night sky. The stars were so vivid and real. Each constellation bled seamlessly into the next. The contours of the cosmos never end.

"It's good to know where you stand sometimes." Dean said, ever so cooly.

I laughed, coming back to reality.

"What?" asked Dean.

"People never stop surprising me."

"Did I surprise you?"

"You haven't stopped."

Dean laid his head down on the hood of his car. I joined him. We just stayed like that. The Beatles began to seep out of the Impala's radio.

"Hey Jude?" I asked, again in disbelief.

"Laugh all you want. This is my favorite song." He declared.

"Why is that?"

I loved talking to Dean like this. I felt the warmth of the alcohol in my abdomen and the car radiating beneath me, the smell of gasoline, Dean's leather jacket.

"If you must know, My mom used to sing me this every night before I went to sleep."

"She sounds good, Your mom." I said quietly as I watched him. His green eyes were still swimming in the stars. But I couldn't stop looking at him.

"She was."

Just like that my chest tightened, face red, stomach upset, head reeling. The weight on the word "was" just hung in the air.

"I- I'm sorry, Dean."

"Me too. " he put his calloused hands on my shoulder. Dean could tell I was upset. "Don't sweat it."

We just sat silently and listened to the rest of the song. I could imagine Dean's mother singing every last syllable as he drifted to sleep. It broke my heart.

Even though I have only known Dean for a few days, I care about him a lot.

"Tell me about Faith, Cas." Dean's voice cracked. I could still see his eyes glisten in the dark.

"What do you want to know?"

"How does it feel? To believe, I mean."

"Well… It feels empowering. Like you have a purpose. I never questioned what I was supposed to be doing or how to act. I knew what the Lord expected of me and I was determined to comply. I loved God. I loved his grace and sacrifice to us. If anything bad happened to me I could just say "God has a plan" and I was okay. Faith is a wonderful thing. It makes you feel large, divine, and resolved. One day I realized how small and broken I actually was. The higher you climb, the farther you fall. When I lost faith, I lost all hope. I realized that my life had been a hoax, almost. Every part of me burns. It hurts. I am trying to pick up my pieces.

God's love ended up just being a cover to hide my anxiety, my depression, my OCD, my addiction, my self hatred. All of those feeling were hidden behind this biblical dam. When the dam broke, those feelings drowned me.

We were both silent for a while. I worried that I had said something wrong or scared Dean off. I felt myself crumbling inward.

Then he spoke.

"You know, Cas. I am not big into metaphors. But, if you'll let me, I'll be your boat."

Then I turned my eyes from the sky to his which had been watching me all along. I smiled, ear to ear. I gave him a small nod. I felt happy.

"If you don't mind me asking, what made you quit the GodSquad?"

"The Problem of Evil" I spat.

He nodded. "Care to elaborate on that?"

"If God exists, then why did he created evil. If he creates and loves all things then why does he cause so much grief? Why do good people die? And if he doesn't exist, then is evil all there is?"

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment.

"What about you then? Any religious affiliations?" I asked, hoping to fill the silence.

"Nah. I guess I've seen enough shit to know that there isn't a freakin tellitubby sun-baby looking down on me. But to answer your Problem of Evil... No evil is not all there is." Dean paused for a moment. "It's not all there is. Because what I can see, from sitting in the cheap seats, is that there a few things to stick 'round for."

We stumbled back into our rooms way past curfew. I was exhausted and my throat burned of alcohol. But I liked it.

And I like Dean Winchester.

A lot.


End file.
